Just The Stars
by Lillielle
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing. Warning for child abuse. Series of one-shots. It's the traditions they share, like Mother Gothel brushing her hair, or watching the floating lights, but why do they always make Rapunzel feel so sick? Why can't she ever leave her tower? What lies out there, in the world she can't even picture?
1. Bedtime

_Warning for non-con, child abuse, etc. One-shot for the moment, but I might be inspired to write more._

"My little flower," Mother would always murmur into her hair, tucking her in at night and blowing out the light. "I love you, Rapunzel."

"I love you more," Rapunzel always dutifully piped up, clutching the edges of the blanket tightly and smiling (if a trifle strained) at her mum.

"I love you most," Mother completed, and closed the door. Rapunzel would try to fall asleep as quickly as she could, but it didn't always work. Sometimes she was still awake when the door creaked back open, when the slight weight of her mother dented the bed.

It was always slow, almost sweet, really. Gothel's fingers carefully brushing aside Rapunzel's long hair, gently ensuring it didn't pull or tangle. The way she'd slip Rapunzel's nightgown up, up, up, past her hips and almost to her chin. Mummy's little flower wasn't allowed to wear knickers to bed (they might get dirty, Mother always said, and who was she to argue with her mum?), and so Gothel's hands would inevitably wander between Rapunzel's legs, brushing against the soft, hairless skin until the tips of her fingers dampened.

Rapunzel almost always woke up during this bit, if she wasn't already lying there stiff as a statue. The laxness of her body would evaporate, and she'd lie there, frozen, her eyes scrunched painfully shut, as her mother roved and prodded and caressed, as whatever mysterious liquid that coated Gothel's fingers increased and squeaked across Rapunzel's skin.

Inevitably, her mother would retreat, and the rustle of clothes would echo in Rapunzel's ears. Then Mother Gothel would be back, not allowing her daughter to keep up the pretense of sleep anymore, as she shoved the girl aside, as she pulled Rapunzel's lips to hers, tugging the girl's hands to places Rapunzel didn't want to think about.

"There, my little flower, there, oh, Rapunzel," Gothel gasped in her ear, her breathing ragged as her hips bucked against the small girl, grinding her into the bed. "Good girl, Mommy loves you _so_ much."

"I love you more," Rapunzel whispered, her eyes glassy with tears she refused to let fall. Her mother stood up, properly withdrawing this time and retrieving her clothing before she smoothed the covers back over her oh-so-precious daughter. Her fingers always slipped smoothly through the bright golden tresses just that one extra moment.

"I love you most," Mother Gothel repeated, and left Rapunzel alone for the night, the tears blurring her vision until the floating lights painted on her wall looked like they really were just the stars.


	2. Leaving Her Tower

_A/N: So that resolve faded rather quickly because I'm writing another one-shot. This might just become a series of one-shots, set in the same universe, but at different points in time._

Despite Rapunzel's rather tender age, her mother liked to leave her alone for several days at a time. Mother Gothel claimed it was for supplies, and of course, her daughter had no reason to disbelieve her. What Rapunzel didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and what did it matter if Gothel took an extra day or two for a dalliance? She was young again, she was beautiful, and she liked taking full advantage of both of those things.

So Rapunzel thought nothing of it when her mother told her that she was off for more supplies and that she'd be back in four days, be careful to ration the food in the pantry, and remember, _don't leave the tower. _The look in her mother's eyes made Rapunzel swallow so hard it hurt and nod until her head felt wobbly.

She had enough to do anyway, didn't she? Learning about the flora and fauna around the tower (her mother was kind enough to provide her with samples of the flora, and occasionally bringing up the odd squirrel or rabbit for further study), improving her painting, learning how to properly embroider instead of the clumsy, tangled mess she usually ended up with.

It wasn't until the first night that Rapunzel started to think of something more. There was no one to make her go to bed on time and for once, she didn't feel like obeying the silent specter of her mother's orders. Just this once. So instead she sat up on the window sill, her head propped up on her knees as she watched the stars flourish, twinkling with faded radiance.

"Pascal, I..." she began, and stopped, looking down. It was such a long way down to the bottom, she couldn't even see it in the darkness. Her heart suddenly began to beat even faster, skipping beats as the enormity of the betrayal of her thoughts came clear. Her chameleon friend chirped inquiringly at her, and she smiled rather shakily.

"Pascal, what if I left?" she whispered, twisting her fingers together in the fabric of her dress. "What if I..."

And before she quite realised what she was doing, she'd hung her hair up on its customary place, carefully adjusting her position and looking over the edge. It was so far it made her dizzy, and yet that was part of the thrill, wasn't it?

The stones of the tower, normally sun-warmed and gentle to her bare feet, were freezing beneath her toes as she began making her way down. Pascal chittered anxiously into her ear, his tail wrapping painfully around her neck, but she ignored it, continuing down, down, down...

Until her feet brushed something completely unfamiliar, and she stopped.

It was soft, and yet ever-so-slightly scratchy, and...

She'd reached the bottom. Her toes brushed the ground. The-grass? Her brow furrowed. Yes. The ground was covered in the grass, that green stuff she'd seen from the very top, and the vegetation she'd perused in her books. Grass and flowers and trees and bushes and...

Exhilaration bubbled up, spilling forth in a surprisingly loud laugh, before she clapped her hands over her mouth, looking about guiltily, certain that either her mother would appear out of nowhere, a righteously angry wraith of condemnation, or one of the things her mother always told her about would drag her off. Ruffians and thugs and men with pointy teeth-anything and everything that wanted the little girl with the magic hair.

But there was nothing. Not a sound echoed back from her childish shout, and not even the grass stirred around her. She sat down right where she stood, the smile on her face threatening to break completely free of her body as her hands also flattened the vegetation. It was _beautiful_, and it was magical, and she never wanted to go up into that musty old tower again, even though she knew she must.

Ever-mindful not to go too far (considering the hook her hair rested on was the only sure way she knew how to get back up in the first place), Rapunzel wandered around the base of the tower that had been her prison and home for twelve long years, drinking in every possible detail that she could, in the watery light of the moon. The flowers that grew there, the brook that lapped at her feet, the tree that snuggled up to the other side of the stones, as if it wanted to meld with it.

It was a night that Rapunzel never wanted to end, and it was with a very weary heart she realised the sun was starting to come up. For her own safety, she knew she had to clamber back up, and yet oh, how she wanted to stay here. To go further. To discover what lay at the far end of the valley, to watch the small animals wake up and scurry about their days. To maybe even-gulp-see _people_.

But she knew that she couldn't. So with Pascal once again clinging to her for dear life, Rapunzel pulled herself back up to her window. It was long, tiring work, and the sun was well up in the sky by the time she finished, her arms trembling with exhaustion and her stomach muscles burning. She'd made it though, and despite her weariness, her smile could not be quenched.

She'd found a way out of her tower and maybe-just maybe-the next time her mother was out on one of her trips, she could do it again.


End file.
